


A Helping Hand

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Modesty Blaise - Peter O'Donnell
Genre: Blackmail, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Fandom Stocking 2017, Friendship, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: Fraser needs the help of Modesty and Willie.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> Written for fredbassett at fandom_stocking.

“No, no, forget I said anything.” Jack Fraser sat back in his chair and shook his head, he was already deeply regretting mentioning anything to Modesty and Willie Garvin but they had a way of inviting him to unburden himself without saying a word.

Modesty smiled. “That didn't work out so well the last time you said that.”

“Or the one before that. Or the one before...” Willie added, and then stopped with a toothy grin in the face of Fraser's deadpan expression.

Fraser resumed drinking his coffee, knowing full well that in the face of the pair of them he wouldn't be holding his tongue for long.

Modesty sank back into the sofa and crossed her legs. She was dressed casually in black slacks and an ice blue cashmere sweater, her hair twisted behind her in some impossible knot tied with a blue ribbon and waited expectantly for Fraser to continue.

“It's not quite in your usual line,” Fraser began, and then stopped, uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

“We'll be the judge of that, won't we Princess?”

Modesty nodded, more serious now. “Trouble with Tarrant?” she guessed.

In the ordinary course of events Fraser would have denied anything more than the typical boss and subordinate relationship between him and Tarrant with his dying breath, but this was Modesty and Garvin, and they of all people wouldn't judge.

“I'm being blackmailed.” Neither of them reacted. “Which I'm guessing doesn't surprise you in the slightest?”

“I'm just surprised you ain't shanked the bastards,” Willie said. “You know 'bout as many as can do it as we do.”

“If it were that simple I would have done it myself,” Fraser said. “But I can't be sure there aren't copies. And it's Tarrant's reputation on the line, not mine. I'm no one.”

Even as he said it his bland expression slipped and real red hot anger behind his eyes was visible.

“You know we'll help, of course,” Modesty said. “What do they have? Photographs?”

Fraser nodded and put his coffee cup more forcefully down onto the table than he would have normally. “Damned foolish. Took our eyes off the ball for a second and – my fault, of course.”

Willie snorted. “Takes two you know.”

Fraser conceded the point with a sharp nod of his head. “He doesn't know anything and I want it to stay that way.”

“Let's have it then,” Willie said.

“His name's Humphrey Myers, squirrelly little bastard of a civil servant. On secondment from the Department of Trade and Industry.” Fraser paused then and then carried on in a rush. “I rather thought he had designs on the old man from the beginning but - “

“But he only has eyes for you?” Modesty asked, smiling and touching Fraser's leg lightly with her bare foot.

Fraser gave a half-shrug and pulled out some papers from his briefcase including a photo of Myers. He then spent the next half an hour detailing all he knew about Myers – everything from his first school to his first sexual encounter – and the location of the incriminating photographs.

“He's exactly the sort that would have copies,” Fraser said, “but I'll be damned if I can find out where they are.”

“You leave that to us,” Modesty said. She was sitting forward now, resting her chin against steepled fingers, a deep look of concentration on her face.

“What you got, Princess?” Willie asked her.

“The beginnings of something, but we're all going to have a part to play. Are you up to that, Jack?”

“Whatever it takes,” Fraser said. It was Tarrant he was worried about protecting after all not himself.

Modesty nodded, accepting both what he had and hadn't said out loud. “Hopefully it won't come to that.”

* * * *

Three days after their meeting in Modesty's flat Jack Fraser found himself wearing one of the most expensive suits he'd ever owned and standing in the foyer of a Central London hotel with delusions of grandeur. Never a nervous man he allowed himself to feel the slight flutterings of trepidation and then let them sink, making his reactions quicker and his thinking clearer. It was nowhere near the kind of thing that Modesty could do, but it had served him well in the past as he trusted it would tonight.

Right on time he looked up to see Humphrey Myers stalking towards him, a predatory grin making the hairs on the back of Fraser's neck stand to attention. Somewhere he knew Modesty was having a probably not dissimilar reaction, but despite his not inconsiderable best efforts he couldn't tell where in the foyer she'd sequestered herself.

“Jack,” Myers said, shaking the hand Fraser automatically extended. “How good of you to meet me in person.”

“Humphrey,” Fraser smiled, pulling his hand away and nervously fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “It was good of you to meet me.”

“Drink?” Myers asked, steering Fraser towards the bar. Fraser allowed himself to be manoeuvred a little reluctantly, though this was actually what he'd been hoping for.

“Should we be conducting, uh, business, in the, uh, open like this.”

“Always best to meet out in the open,” Myers said. “Never know who's watching you in the shadows.”

Fraser held back a shudder as Myers' hand dipped low on his back as he pushed him towards a booth in the middle of the bar.

“Two of the usual,” Myers said to the barman and sat opposite Fraser, his crossed legs resting against Fraser's legs.

“We, uh, should...I have the money,” Fraser said in a rush, words tumbling over each other.

“Are we in a rush?” Myers asked. A waitress with long red hair wearing a uniform of barely enough material to cover her breasts left two whiskey sours on the table; Myers didn't so much as glance at her and Fraser knew better than to acknowledged her as well.

“Well, uh, it's that er a lot. And well, uh...”

“You seem nervous,” Myers said. “Don't be.” He took a drink and licked his lips. “Drink up.”

Fraser did as he was instructed, allowing his hands to tremble just a little; the flinch he gave as Myers' foot pressed into his crotch was less calculated, which was probably just as well as Myers smiled and downed the rest of his drink.

“Let's do the swap upstairs,” he suggested, and practically manhandled Fraser into the lift.

It took all of Fraser's considerable skills not to strangle the man with his bare hands as he pawed at Fraser, whispering filthy words in his ear about all the good things they could do for each other and that Fraser didn't have to bed an old man to get ahead. All Fraser could think about was whether he'd given Willie enough time to go through Myers' room and destroy the negatives of the photographs they'd discovered were hidden behind one of the room's paintings; the copies hidden in a safe deposit had been despatched the previous day.

When they got to the door of the hotel room Willie and Modesty, now bereft of red wig but still in her waitresses uniform were learning against the wall. Fraser sighed a breath of relief when he saw them and straightened up, the bland expression on his face vanishing in the blink of an eye. It was of great satisfaction that Myers didn't appear to know what was happening.

“What's this – I didn't order room service.” He looked between Fraser and Modesty and Willie and must have realised that the game was up because he reached for the photo in his inside coat pocket, only to find that it was gone.

Modesty opened her hand to reveal the shredded remains of a photograph. “Looking for these?” she asked.

Fraser smiled. He hadn't seen her take the photograph even though he'd been watching for exactly that, but he'd never doubted that she would get it.

“What's going on here?” Myers asked.

“What's going on,” Fraser said, crowding Myers up against the wall, “is that you are very lucky I'm in a generous mood.” He slipped a brown envelope with half the amount Myers had been asking for the photographs into his pocket. “Come after me or Tarrant again and your parents will be using that money to plan your funeral.”

“And if I were you,” Willie piped up, waving a packet of white powder he'd lifted from Myers' hotel room, “I'd be taking up a new position somewhere warm. Say, Tanzania?”

* * * *

They headed back to Modesty's penthouse, Fraser still keyed up despite himself. He had been sorely tempted to smash Myers' face in but Modesty had suggested he'd be of better use in one piece and Fraser hadn't been able to come up with a reason why not in a sufficiently quick time before it was a fait accompli between her and Willie.

“I thought you were wonderfully restrained,” Modesty said, putting a hand on his arm.

Fraser snorted. “If you two weren't witnesses...”

Willie laughed. “Never stopped anyone before. Hang on, what's this?”

He was on sudden alert at a shadow moving in the darkness of the penthouse until Tarrant stepped into the moonlight by the curtainless windows and he relaxed with a rueful shake of his head.

“Willie isn't in that much need of target practice,” Modesty said, switching on the lights.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Tarrant said, though his eyes were only for Fraser. “I've not been here long. I overhead something at the office and well, I was expecting just the two of you.”

“We've just been conducting some business with Jack,” Modesty said, slipping off her coat and shoes. Tarrant was sufficiently aware of his surroundings to glance with surprise at Modesty's outfit before turning back to Fraser. “Everything's all right now.”

“I see,” Tarrant said, though he didn't. He'd get the truth out of Fraser shortly enough however, there wasn't much they didn't know about each other after all this time, and judging by the way Modesty and Willie slipped out of the room as quietly as they did he was involved in this matter too, whatever it might be.

He was just about to ask in fact when Fraser moved forward and kissed him, pulling him close and sighing as Tarrant kissed him back, safe in the knowledge that neither Modesty nor Willie would interrupt.

“It's a very long story,” Fraser said as they broke apart.

“All right,” Tarrant said, a little awkwardly. “Does it have a happy ending?”

Fraser laughed and his whole body relaxed, the stresses of the last month seeming to fall away.

“Let's go find out,” he said.

And so they did.


End file.
